Suspended in Dusk
by dementia praecox
Summary: Post Our War Game AU: "By Matt's hands history was rewritten to favor evil, and now I'm supposed to trust him to find Courage and the others? I can't do that, Ken, which is why I want you to follow him." -Ryo (joint-fic by Trayne & Alene)


A/N: This is a collaborated fic written by two different authors: myself (Alene Deirbre) and the magnificent Trayne. To make a rather long story short: Trayne e-mailed me and told me about this nifty idea she had for a fic, and she asked me if I'd be interested in writing it with her. I said "sure", (of course I didn't know what I was getting myself into at the time. Just kidding, I'm glad she asked and I'm glad I said yes) and we went to work. Anyway, we took her original idea and played with it a bit until we turned it into something rather uh? big. Now we present to you an alternative story, succeeding Our War Game.

This fic will have **no romance**. It's not that Trayne and I don't like romance, it's just that we feel that platonic love is not explored often enough in fan fiction. Be prepared for some original Digimon and the presence of Tori from Trayne's fic _Spirit Sleeping Somewhere Cold_. No, Tori is in no way a Mary-sue (trust me), and there are many differences between SiD Tori and SSSC Tori. The reason I mention this is because I don't want people to be confused by the differences between the two Tori's, and I also don't want people trying to hunt down cards for the original Digimon. Also this fic will be long and will consist of long chapters. This first chapter is rather short, but the ones to follow will probably be longer and possess more content. I'm sure there's more I'm suppose to cover, but I already feel like I've rambled too long. So if you have any questions feel free to leave them in a review or send an e-mail to the address for dementia praecox. Trayne and I will cover anything I missed in the next couple of chapters.

Warning: the rating PG-13 is not out of caution. There will be questionable material in this fic, including, but not limited to, language, angst, gore/graphic fight scenes, and some bad habits.

Disclaimer: dementia praecox does not own Digimon. Oh, but how wonderful would it be if we did!

Suspended in Dusk: Circle

I The cradle rocks above an abyss, and common sense tells us that our existence is but a brief crack of light between two eternities of darkness.

-Vladimir Nabokov

* * *

Bodies littered an endless sea of golden sand, while rivers of blood slithered down dunes, leaving trails of dark brown grime to mark their path. A plague of death had overcome this barren land, swooping down upon the unsuspecting caravan like a cloud of locust. The dismembered corpses were countless, scattering far into the burning horizon.

"The _Aha _were merciless. What could these Digimon have possibly done to cause such a stir in the netherworld?"

The smell of death clouded the necropolis as the sun's unbearable heat rained down upon the land. The golden rays burned the scattered limbs and dried up the spilt blood, causing the area to reek with death.

He gagged on the taste of smoldering tissue, resisting the urge to vomit as the taste settled upon his dry tongue and the smell reached his nostrils.

The smell would not have been so bad if the heat had not lifted it into the air, allowing the harsh wind to carry it around as it pleased. Now the stench seemed to surround him, overtaking him with a heavy cloud of mortality.

Protectively he pulled the hood of his tattered brown cloak over his mouth and nose, using the thick fabric as a defense against the invading filth. His efforts were rewarded, as the smell became less overpowering with the cloth barrier obstructing its path. Once his victory over the stench was complete he returned his attention to the cadavers scattered around him.

The sight of such carnage would surly unnerve even the most calloused of warriors, but to him the wasteland was hardly impressive. He had long since grown accustomed to the image of death and was no longer affected by it.

A part of him felt guilty that the sight of glazed eyes and pallid flesh meant so little to him, but another part of him was proud that he had overcome the cold fear and fascination that all mortals have with death. Death had grown to be a large aspect of his life, he too was a dealer of death, so would it not be hypocritical to cringe at the sight of it now?

His thick brown boots made no sound as they landed upon the soft blood stained sand, and the echo of his heavy breaths died away in the howling wind. The only sound that managed to pierce the wind and reach his ears was the pounding of large metal feet upon the loose earth.

Subconsciously he stole a quick look behind him, but was forced to quickly divert his eyes back to the path in front of him as a bright light invaded his vision. The light was the brilliant sun reflecting off of polished armor. The armor decorated a great and terrible beast, a large muscular dragon with gristly crimson wings, razor sharp claws, and a faceless mask with the devil's horns sprouting from the top.

Most quivered in fear when being trailed by this monstrous dragon, but he was comforted in knowing that the beast was still silently following him through the necropolis.

"I guess we're a couple of days too late."

He announced above the howling wind, earning him a growl of agreement from the armored dragon.

Silence returned and he did not dare to disturb it. Instead he bit the side of his lip, which caused the chapped flesh to slip. The metallic taste of blood mixed with his salty sweat and the corpses' stench, flooded his parched mouth with disagreeable flavors. Once again he felt like gagging, and once again he refused the impulse.

Now was not the time to get sick. He had a mission to fulfill. Forcing the weakness of fatigue and dehydration back to the darkest corners of his mind he returned his thoughts to his current quest.

The caravan had been carrying a precious treasure. He, and the beast behind him, were suppose to have intercepted the caravan, annihilated every member of it, and claim the treasure, but someone had beaten them to it.

"Keep your eyes peeled!" he ordered behind him, "Hopefully whoever did this saw the true treasure as worthless and left it behind."

Though the chances were slim, there was still a possibility that his hunt would not be in vain. If one did not know what to look for then it would be easy to overlook the true valuables and leave them behind.

Clinging to what little hope was left he began to scavenge through the decaying limbs, while silently praying to the guardian of mortals to grant him favor on this day.

He kicked the large pale tail of a SandYanmamon back a bit, remaining conscious of its stinger, which could still inject poison after death. The rest of the insect's body lay five feet away. Half buried in the sand, all that could be seen of the champion Digimon were its transparent wings and large insectiod eyes. The large bug eyes, which were jade in life, were now white, with yellow crust around them. Some ways away from the SandYanmamon was what remained of a Cyclonemon. The grotesque dragon Digimon was missing the thick brown horn, which normally rested upon its narrow head, and its broad right arm. Its left arm and tail were also cover in sand, but the nub, which was one its right arm, pointed in the air, revealing its now gray tissue and beige bones.

Reluctantly he released his grip upon the hood of his cloak, freeing his hand and allowing the smell to fully overrun his senses. He was not immune to the reeking stench, but he had become less conscious of it the moment his mind returned to his mission.

Swallowing the lump in his throat he began to use his free hands to push limbs around. Behind him he could hear the sound of the beast using his sharp claws and amazing strength to remove the obstacles in his way.

For hours the warrior and the beast scavenged through the sea of corpses and sand. The morning sun rose causing the desert heat to radiated down upon them, and still they hunted. It was not until noon faded into evening and dusk was upon them that their hunt ended.

They were now a mile from where they had first started, the speed and strength of the beast making the search go far quicker than he had originally anticipated.

He was cautiously moving around more bodies when a low growl caught his attention. Ignoring his efforts for a moment he stood and walked quickly to where the armor dragon waited.

The large figure's shadow covered him and he looked, silently questioning the Digimon. The dragon answered his partner's question by pointing a clawed finger at a large wooden box, which rested at his feet.

"Let's hope this is it?" he whispered as he eyed the box suspiciously.

The dragon took a step back, affording him more room. Once the large metal monster was out of the way he fell onto his knees, hoping beyond hope that this was indeed the treasure they sought.

Once upon his knees he pulled out a richly decorated dagger and cut the leather strap which kept the box from opening. Not bothering to push the leather cord away he moved his gloved fingers to the bottom of the lid and quickly threw the wooden board off. The lid fell back causing a small cloud of sand to rise into the air before settling again.

Holding his breath he looked pleadingly into the box, his eyes widening with shock at what he saw.

"I can't believe it." he uttered in awe before raising his hands to the hood of his cloak and pushing it off.

The dusty hood fell back revealing a boy with wild brown hair, tan skin, and vibrant blue eyes. The boy laughed with so much glee that it was hard to believe he was the same solemn warrior who so thoughtlessly disrupted the dead only moments ago.

"We found it!" he shouted in triumph as the dragon growled, also pleased with their success.

The boy looked into the box, staring at its contents with a newfound sense of hope. Within the box were colorful objects, all of different shapes. Each of the objects had different symbols painted upon them, and he studied each symbol closely before his eyes rested upon the first object in the box.

This object was oval shaped and resembled an egg. The egg was painted orange and blue and had a silver spike upon the top. Something so small would seem harmless and insignificant to most, but to him the egg was the symbol of a great power, stronger than the fires of hell.

Once he had taken in the full image of the egg his eyes narrowed upon the symbol painted proudly on the front. Slowly he raised his gloved hand and gently touched the golden sun upon the egg. His eyes grew serious with reverence as he softly whispered a prayer.

"Courage, we need you now more than ever."

Once his awe had passed he shook his head, abandoning his sense of triumph, as he knew that this one success changed very little.

"Grab the box." he ordered as he stood.

The dragon nodded and stooped down, picking up the precious cargo with care.

"Come on," the boy announced as he turned to the west, "We still have a long journey ahead, and dusk is upon us."

With these words the warrior and the best began their slow march out of the necropolis and back into the world of chaos.

* * *

The muddled sounds of the overpopulated city faded into a subtle rhythm of car engines and hushed voices the moment the sun fully disappeared beyond the borders of the world. The moon had begun its slow ascent, but had not yet reached the height of its glory. Dusk now dominates, leaving the world obscured by shadows, as the dim heavens are unable to cast the darkness away.

The coming of night had an immediate impact upon the people roaming the streets and alleyways. Their sense of security vanished with the fading light, leaving them in a maze of apprehension. As children they were taught to fear the darkness and the unknown lurking within it, and this fear latched to their reasoning, forever affecting their judgment.

So out of this child-like fear, the people rushed to their homes, all of them completely oblivious to the one soul who truly understood the essence of darkness.

This soul belonged to a young boy, who, in many ways, was a stranger to this world. An outsider unable to grasp the perpetual cycle, which governs society. This freed him from the controlling hand of the civilized world, but it did not free him from oppression. A tyrant more destructive than modern society governed him, and this was his own conscience.

'Others may seek comfort in the light, but darkness will forever be my chapel and my refuge.'

The boy thought bitterly to himself as he slowly raised a cigarette to his lips, taking a long drag before releasing a toxic cloud into the cold night air. With each drag more of the white paper turned to ashes, and he thoughtlessly flicked them into the chilled wind, not caring if they flew back and scattered upon him.

Subconsciously he despised himself for picking up such an unhealthy habit, but he needed something to help take the edge off of a hard day, and this proved to be less dangerous than his previous habits. So against his better judgment he allowed himself this small luxury, using the habit to help distract himself from less pleasant thoughts.

With another drag he forced any lingering regrets to the corners of his mind, before returning his attention to the city and the ones that occupied it.

He almost wanted to laugh at the sight of these mindless drones scurrying back to their prisons. It was amusing to see people three times his age running from night as though the shadows were going to swallow them whole. He had never been afraid of the dark. He tried to argue that the reason for this was desensitization due to prolonged exposure to horror movies, but deep down he knew this wasn't the truth. Deep down he knew that he was so akin to darkness that to fear it would mean fearing a part of himself.

So while most feared the darkness, he had grown to rely on it. He needed this blindfold to protect him from the hideousness of the world. He needed the night to help him escape from the day. Day reveals all that he despises. Day forces him to face the truths about life and himself. He needed darkness to escape.

Thoughtlessly he took another drag from his cigarette then tossed the butt away. Once both of his hands were free he sat up, ignoring the dizziness that followed.

"Dammit it's cold up here!"

He hissed while pulling his pale blue hoody closer to his body.

The elements of late autumn had been merciless, and he fell victim to every harsh, icy breeze and every relentless deluge. He could have quite easily escaped these tormentors by simply asking for help, but his pride would not allow him to succumb to such weaknesses.

His pride often cost him his health, but that was a prics he was willing to pay. After all relying on others can be far more costly than an occasional fever.

After several futile attempts at warming himself he admitted defeat and decided that the best course of action would be to seek a less open area.

He stood slowly, wishing to avoid another dizzy spell, before walking leisurely across the bar's roof. The old bar was hardly a popular attraction, considering its normal cliental were out of work alcoholics and cheap prostitutes. The majority of the people within lived off of food stamps, and where they got the money for booze baffled him.

He managed to make it to the ladder, which led down to the alley, despite the many beer cans that littered his path. Once his hands met the rusted bars, he hopped onto the first step of the ladder and quickly climbed down.

Once in the alley the sound of old rock n' roll mingled with slurred voices reached his ears. He scanned the area quickly before his eyes rested upon two men and one woman who were stumbling out of the bar's open side door.

The three swaggered around in a pathetic, yet oddly comical, way while hollering and laughing at everything and nothing. Wary of the three's presence the boy halted his retreat. Leaning against the bar's graffiti covered, brick wall he watched with disinterest as the three wobbled out of the alley and onto the main street.

"Fuckin' drunks!" he snarled in annoyance before pushing himself off of the wall and turning his attention to the rat invested alley.

He was not certain why, but for some reason he always sought these slum joints out. He could only reason that it was a security thing. The last thing he wanted was to be among people who noticed him, and it was safe to say that these people didn't give a fuck about him.

The dejected teen sighed as he was reminded once again of how truly alone he was. He had cut all but one of the ties, which bound his soul to others, and this one lingering thread was the only thing that kept him sane.

He pushed his hands deeper into his hoody's pocket as he began his slow trek through the deserted alleys of Odaiba. He knew this city well and yet everything felt so distant and alien to him. Even the stray cats and plague carrying rats scurrying around him seemed unreal and untouchable. He was cut off even from the lowliest creatures of the world.

'Perhaps I am the lowest creature of them all.'

And in a rush all of the regrets he had held back fell upon him. His mental beating consumed him. He stood in a daze, alone in the eclipsed alley fighting a loosing battle with the demons in his head. His guilt tore at his soul, ripping chunks of his self worth away, he was slowly falling part.

'I can't think about this shit now! None of it matters anyway!'

He screamed internally a cry only he could hear.

His struggled would have continued for hours had a sharp beeping noise not interrupted his crucifixion.

In a snap his depression fled and a since of urgency took its place. He stopped in his tracks then pushed up his hoody and the t-shirt underneath so that he could have access to the small white device that was latch to the rim of his jeans.

Carelessly he tugged the beeping device off of his pants then looked at it curiously. After a few seconds of studying the small screen in the center of the device his thoughts shifted from curious to alarm.

"Shit!"

His aimless stroll had ended and in a rush he took off down the alley, running as fast as his legs and lungs would allow.

* * *

Crimson eyes narrowed upon a large spider, clinging to a brown brick wall. These eyes, which were usually gentle and warm, were frozen like frost-coated blood. The cold orbs followed the spider as it crawled effortlessly upon the brown wall, sizing up its opponent below.

Without warning the spider leaped from its elevated position down upon its opponent.

The arachnid hissed with pleasure as his dive caught his opponent off guard, giving him an opportunity to ram the much smaller creature with his thick yellow skull.

The smaller creature yelped in pain as the large spider's horned head connected with his side, knocking him forcefully to the ground.

The spider's many beady green eyes sparkled with excitement as his opponent skid across the rocky asphalt.

"Yes! Almost done with the riffraff!"

He squealed with glee as his large body wobbled closer to his fallen opponent, who was wheezing in a battered heap upon the ground.

"Gabumon make good midnight snakes!"

The virus announced as he drew closer to the fallen Digimon.

Gabumon clenched his side in pain as the force from the spider's earlier blow took its toll. His ribs were now bruised from where the grotesque Digimon's head had hit, and the part of his left arm which was exposed was now scraped and bleeding.

"Why are you doing this Dokugumon?" the little rookie panted out as he tried to use his right arm to push himself up.

Dokugumon snicker spitefully before replying, "Because your partner can not be aloud to find Courage."

Gabumon cringed as he felt the heat from Dokugumon reeking breath upon his yellow scales. The spider Digimon was now hovering over him, preparing to make his final strike. Thoughts of mutilation circled the insectiod Digimon's mind, causing hot, sticky saliva to drip from his mouth onto the helpless creature below him.

Gabumon closed his eyes tightly, wishing to protect them from the spider's dripping fluids. Dokugumon thought that the battle was over, but the rookie knew better. The reptile Digimon was born only to wage battle, and he knew that victory was not complete until someone was dead.

"Who the fuck do you think you are?"

A cold voice snarled from the shadows.

Dokugumon grunted then turned his large body around until he was facing the direction of the voice. He knew that there was a possibility for interference. His intentions had been to kill the rookie Digimon before this interference could occur, but unfortunately his plan had failed. The person he least wished to encounter that night had emerged from the shadows.

The spider studied the boy before him. He was young, no older than thirteen. His clothes were faded and ripped and his once golden blonde hair was dull and greasy. The unwashed locks hung above his shoulders and fell into his face, concealing his right eye. His left eyebrow was pierced allowing two silver balls to interrupt his pale skin, and distract from his eyes of ice.

There seemed to be nothing special about the boy, but the spider knew that appearances can be deceiving. He had never encountered this boy before, but the child's reputation preceded him.

Despite his knowledge the virus Digimon decided to continue as if the child meant nothing. "Your power was bled from you a long time ago. You are not who you once were." he mocked as his pea green eyes narrowed upon the rebellious teen.

The boy did not falter, not even as the spider approached him. He did not fear death, in many ways he waited only to welcome death into his life. So as the spider drew near him, he found himself lost in the dizzy sensation of his own demise.

Ever closer came the jaws of death. He felt his pulse quicken with the thrill of being so close to his escape, and then a screeching sound irrupted from the small white device still clutch in his hand.

He could not do it. He could not allow himself to die now, no matter how tempting the thought was. He had to live, and so he pushed his lust away and turned his attention to the light beaming from his closed fist.

The spider cried in shock and pain as the screeching of the digivice and the light of evolution flooded the alleyway. His senses were overrun by the power emitting from the boy. Just as the virus thought that he could take no more the light faded into oblivion and the sound died away.

Once his digivice stopped beeping the boy moved over to the alley wall and leaned against it. His arms crossed arrogantly over his chest as his eyes diverted to the ground.

"What are you doing!" the virus questioned in anger.

"It's over." came the cold response from the now disinterested boy.

Before more could be said a low growl drew the Dokugumon's attention behind him. The spider slowly, and somewhat clumsily, turned to meet the source of the sound and in a flash a wolf's jaw locked onto his front right leg.

Sharp teeth sunk into the arachnid's leg causing the spider to screech in pain. Then a large front paw was placed against the spider's head. Using the paw for support the wolf defiantly pulled away, ripping off the virus' leg in one smooth movement.

The boy gazed at the massacre from his place against the wall. No emotion appeared upon his face as he watched green blood spill from the wolf's jaw, where the spider's leg was still clutch by dagger like teeth. Nor did he wince as the wolf spat out the severed limb with disgust. Green blood painted the alley, but this sight meant nothing to him.

Dokugumon yelped as he fell pitifully upon his right side. Blood flowed out of the nub that was once his leg, and he panted and hissed as he fought to remain conscious.

Once the leg was out of the wolf's mouth he growled angrily then circled his fallen prey.

The spider's breathing quickened as he felt the powerful wolf stalking him. He wanted to plead for mercy, but he knew that it was too late. His fate had been sealed.

"I was wrong about you, Yamato." the spider wheezed desperately, earning him the attention of the boy resting against the near by wall.

Yamato looked up, but he did not move. Instead he waited to hear what the spider's last words would be.

"You haven't change," the dying creature continued, "You are still what you once were."

The words came out cold and spiteful, but their hatred seemed meaningless when compared to the hatred that filled Yamato's cold eyes.

"Finish him!" the boy shouted in rage, the spider having succeeded in his final goal to torment the one responsible for his coming death.

Against his desire the wolf pounced upon the dying spider and savagely bit into its throat, ripping out flesh and pipes as he had with the leg.

Yamato was no longer leaning against the wall, but was now standing up tall, his fist clench in anger as his eyes narrowed upon the virus Digimon.

Dokugumon died the moment the wolf's teeth tore through his throat, but it took several seconds for his body to reconfigure.

Yamato was shaking as he watched the spider's body slowly break apart. The image of death at his desire had been played out many times before him, but it had never effected him like this. Everything seemed different now, and he could no longer ignore the suffering caused by his hands.

"Yamato."

The blonde blinked then shook his head in an attempt to regain control of himself. Once his thoughts were clear he slowly shifted his gaze to his partner, but instantly regretted doing so. Green blood still stained his partner's usually snow-white fur, making the large wolf Digimon seem like a savage beast. The very sight of his friend caused shame to overwhelm him as he knew that it was he, not his partner, that was the monster.

"He was wrong." the wolf reassured, hoping his partner could understand that the spider only wished to deceive them. He knew the boy better than anyone and he knew that Yamato had changed.

Yamato lowered his gaze and nodded before mumbling a quick, "Whatever."

Without looking back the teen turned on his heel and headed back into the shadows, back into his lonely chapel.

* * *

A/N: Yes, I'm back to ramble. I'm kind of uncertain about the quality of my content here (That's what I get for writing under the influence of allergy pills). Naturally I'm counting on Trayne to redeem any losses I may have caused. And while we're on that note I need to thank Trayne for beta reading part of this fic. I rewrote some of it after she had edited it, and so those parts will probably be littered with grammar and spelling errors.

I know this chapter may seem confusing, but I promise things will clear up as we progress. Anyway please let us know if you'd be interested in reading more. Trayne and I both have other projects so we don't want to take time away from them unless it's spent on something else of interest. Also critiquing is welcomed and appreciated. Let us know what you like and don't like so that we can rectify those things before we get too far down the road. Until next time, thanks for reading and please send feedback.


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